


amid salt and smoke

by TheLadyTeddy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, but not in major detail, magic sorta included, wands are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyTeddy/pseuds/TheLadyTeddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghost watches, amid the salt and smoke.<br/>The Prince that was Promised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	amid salt and smoke

He was the face of a man they killed, and bore the weapon that was a danger to all. The cursed wand the Southerns only whispered of, and guarding them from that which they believed to be nothing but stories.

_You are a STARK, we have guarded the walls for years._

She was all lean muscles and dark hair, with eyes like storm clouds and a left hook that had purple and blue dancing up pale skin. She was wild, reckless, filled with anger and reproach. She was all flashing white teeth and a dark black wand.

_Horseface! Underfoot! Ghost..._

They tore their father from his pedestal, drawing his death out before hundreds amidst cheers and screams. They destroyed their pack-brother and his familiar and paraded his body through the streets. They sunk her mother’s body in the rivers.

_TRAITOR! THE KING IN THE NORTH! WOLF MOTHER!_

One sister engulfed in the maw of the lions and their flashy colors and too bright smiles, hiding away the darkness in their skin and under their fangs. They cut with words and choked life from her skin with easing touches.

_Little Dove, this is your home now._

One dreaming brother sought refuge far into their homeland, forgetting his line in the south. The other brother packed and sent far away, his own name and legacy long forgotten in the wind.

_We will return home, know that brother._

The Wolf set her sights south, searching for ancient magic to bring the regime to their knees, while blood ran through the streets and a family line returned to the land atop the mighty creatures only they could conquer.

_You are not the only one who can conquer._

The Wolf learned to kill.  
The Dreamer learned to see.  
The Lady learned to lie.  
The Bastard learned to die.

_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

The Lady came North, whispering lies and drawing their clans together, weaving together an order and a plan. They offered her sons, they offered her daughters. They offered her dreams and they offered her nightmares. But she was precise and strong, drawing lies and blood around her like a cloak. The Lady grabbed the once proud sailor’s boy and collected Giants, Bears and Mermen to her side. She gathered in silence and with speed, eyeing her home and taking it with brute force.

_No rings. No bonds. No Unions._

The Bastard begins the fight, drawing strength from those they fought, and magic he did not understand. The Bastard waves a silver-lime wand, and casts his own work, but fails to stop his own heart until the end. He loses that which made him question his own duty, and then loses his life. But red magic of a red god prevents his path.

_Resurrection Jon Snow, that is my profession._

The Wolf returned, blood around her mouth and a thrumming hatred in her veins, a dragon at her back, caressing her dark hair and whispering words of love in her ears. Met on the hot plain of hatred and loss, of a legacy torn from them and a land they vowed to return to. Upon the backs of mystical creatures they flew, one with a thirst for blood and the other to seek her rightful home. They spends days tumbling through silks and atop monuments, longing for the return home (The North and a Castle). They love with every fire within them, every beast that is chained to their blood and that rages in their mind. They mate wildly, and they temper each other. They cannot let each other go, it seems unthinkable, Ice and Fire together, the cycle their fore-bearers tore a world apart for (the last dragon and the she-wolf). The Dragon held fast to her neck, chaining her like a dog they said, but a Wolf belonged to no one but her pack and ripped through the Lions, Bridges and Flayed Men, caring not for the threat of fire on her back.

_If you love me then you’ll let me kill._

She came North, cutting a swath with an army at her back, her pack-sister at her side, parading through their home and rooting out the evil. The Lady watched in satisfaction at her sister’s transformation, the size of a horse and the shades of grey-brown that cited her for what she was-- a Wolf. Storm eyes hazed with blood lust that only true hatred and loss can provide.

_I will kill him with my own fangs, you’ll see sister._

Their home was theirs again, and the Bears, Giant, Mermen and a dozen other clans bowed to them again. The Winter Lords and Ladies, their names were spoken in reverent tones as they released their justice through the land, inciting them once again to scream their name through the land.

_STARK! STARK! STARK!_

The Dragon came again, amid the shouts and a Wolf approached, adorned in her fur and with steel at her hip and a wand in her hand. She stood and looked over her lover, her fighter, her last confidant in this great war and held out a hand. The Wolf had fought and her family returned to her side and to their ancestral seat. But she was tempting, a light in the bleak life that the Wolf had lived, the moon in her own personal nightmare that even her sister’s fire-kissed hair couldn’t seem to shake (red was too much like blood). The people screamed when she took her hand and was taken high into the sky, her sister watched with cool blue eyes and she knew where they were bound, to end this reign of terror that was holding over her lands (their lands). Ice and dead men walking, and there was a Bastard fighting it all.

_You are mine, this land is ours. We must destroy those that threaten it._

The reach the edge of the wolf amid flames and steel, the Bastard taking upon his magic and fire to drive back those beings of cold and hatred. The Dragon sends for her conquered creature and her Wolf plunges from its wing to fly among the hordes of bodies, casting flame and smoke into its masses, howling from within her chest. Battle had drawn her since a child, dueling and bravery, it was all that she sought that glory. She transformed into her wolf and began to tear into the creatures, breaking their line and then becoming human again, whispering words that would incinerate the walking masses. The battle field was fire and char, smoke and screams, but none louder than the Dragon herself.

_BURN THEM ALL! FIRE AND BLOOD!_

When it settled there was but two left standing before the Bastard and Dragon. A frozen king with icy talons, and in his grip a squirming wolf pup whose wand was was tossed aside and whose blood was freezing on pale skin. The Dragon and the Bastard stopped, unable to burn that which they loved. The Bastard so broken and still so in love with her that the Dragon had to marvel.

_Anyone but her, please._

But the Wolf merely smiled and gripped the sword at her side.

_We carry magic, we have no need for steel._

It was a gift.

_It’s called Needle._

Two screams at the same time as a swift hand raised and plunged it into her own breast, skewering both her and the monster.

_Nissa Nissa_

The column of flame overtook the Frozen King and he fell back screaming, charring and breaking and she swayed. Swathed in dark colors and with a face as pale as the snow, blood spilling from her chest. The ghost bleeding again and while her Dreamer brother watched, he saw the story repeating over throughout. Dying for the sake of light, a woman knelt with her breast bared, a woman lying on a bed of winter roses, a women lying amid the snow. Yet they all had that same painted face, startling and beautiful, features so delicate but so sharp like the steel and life they gave. He could see others, women who fell to bear and give life, thousands of times over and through the rest of the world (past, present future). But they had that singular thread-- the blood seeping from their chest. He cannot bear to see this come to pass forever and leaves the safety of his father’s gods.

_No...no...no..._

The Dragon screams and runs, the Bastard is faster, reaching her with outstretched hands and seeing those too blue eyes and white skin.

_I ca-can’t..._

He lays her in his lap, already cold rebirth returning as her body begins to move, but still paralyzed by the hot sword in her chest. The silver queen is crying as she grips the sword handle and pulls it free, it’s hot, smoking and burning at her skin had she’d been born without dragons-blood and she holds the edge of the blade at her (un)dead lover’s throat.

_Please don’t, she’s all I have..._

Words are pitiful to a dragon and she buries the sword into her throat, salty tears dripping onto her Wolf’s face. Her bastard brother howls and sobs, the world stop for a moment and through the clouds and amid the freezing darkness light breaks and the sword releases a final push and beam, casting its warm glow and the freezing undead bodies fall and the blue tint to grey eyes slither away.

_Dawn is here._

Arya is not, and as Daenerys holds the sword (Needle) aloft, starring in a mixture of horror and awe Jon sits here, cradling his sister and whispering her name over and over again. They bear her to Winterfell, bury her ashes within the crypt, and the sword at her side. Daenerys kisses her before they set her aflame, and Jon stares at her as if every moment he’s ever lived has gone to waste. Sansa stands there, red hair flying and a single hand carrying her sister’s wand and Bran watches deep within the Godswood.

_She was a warrior, a STARK, a sister. The North Remembers._

The Dragon leaves, going South to destroy the rats in her castle, the North is left to pick up the pieces. Jon goes further North, trying to remember his own lost Wildling girl and to turn to the magic that Bran learned. Bran was not the greenseer the Bloodraven wanted, but Jon was certainly up to the task, he had nothing else to lose.

_The Ghost watches, from her place amid the salt and smoke._

The Prince that was Promised.

**Author's Note:**

> I read an interesting theory about Arya being Nissa Nissa and I sorta ended up with this oddity, not quite my usual writing style, but it was a fun thing to write around 2am.


End file.
